Lettres d'amour à Paris
by Perzephone
Summary: Vicki is a young, naiive waitress struggling in 1980 Miami. Sucked into the cocaine boom that arrived with the Cuban crime wave, her biggest problem comes knocking at her apartment door: Tony Montana. What's more dangerous then that? Está en el amor!
1. Vicki

Love Letters to Paris

When I was a little girl, I only had one dream. One dream that I clutched tightly too, like a young man to his first paycheque, anytime anyone mentioned my tall Eiffel Tower or my dark, smoky cafes my ears would prick, right up through high school until dad was busted growing opium and he went to prison for life, and mom went to rehab, more cocaine in her system then blood itself. Jackie joined the army and I hadn't heard from him in two years, he's fighting over in Vietnam right now and my roommate, whose own brother had died in the jungles, said it was highly unlikely the poor soul was coming back.

After graduation I began to work. I went from job to job, and then in 1980 the Mariel Boatlift came, bringing across the ocean one man that was going to change the face of the Miami underworld, and have a massive impact on my life as well. And still, you ask what my dream is? My dream, is to go to Paris, to live and learn and write, and breathe, walk the same streets as Hemingway and Mozart. Perhaps even travel all of Europe; observe the sunset from the Belvedere in Florence, sail the River Rhine in Germany, observe the cultures from long, intriciate boats in Venice waterways, smoke Italian cigarettes in Sicily, visit Buckingham Palace in London. I was a dreamer, a romantic, and probably a little naiive. It was this innocent ignorance that led me into very big trouble.

After the Cuban crime wave struck, hundreds of thousands of Cuban immigrants flooded Miami, LA and New York, hitting Miami probably the hardest. I had been searching for work, after foolishly quitting from _Jean & Walters_, a high-class restaurant downtown. I went from white silk shirts and tailer skirts and high heels to old plaid shirts that belonged to my brother and rumpled jeans and a stained apron, working in some dorky little sandwhich joint with a fat boss and two Cubans for coworkers. We were situated outside _Theatre Romana,_ a place for the pictures, and it was usually very busy after a picture, and right now we were waiting for the next rush. It was just before 10 30 pm. My co workers consisted of Manolo Ribisi, sandwhich maker extraordinaire, and Antonion Montana, ever-bitching dishwasher. I did the same thing as Manny, while making drinks and ice cream and whatnot. A pathetic existance but soon I was to have another job at _Casabianca, _a Greek restaurant. One of their waitresses was quitting in a week or so and I only had one too wait one week at _Little Havannah Restaurante_. Fat boss Deek had went off somewhere, for he was not present in the stand.

The nightclub across the street became increasingly stuffed with the rich and famous, and I watched, envious. I was sitting on the only chair in the stand, the boys let me use it because "I'm a chica, ya need to rest ye' delicate feet, capiche?". An Impala roared up the road and parked and a valet took the ticket, and four people walked out-- gorgeous people. The beautiful people. Stoned. Laughing. Drinking tequila, smoking foreign cigarettes, their dresses costing more then what I made in three months. I smoked my own rolled, unbranded cigarette, the kind where tobacco rolled out the other end if you didn't hold it properly, and I had never felt more poor then when I watched the clubbers. My own hands were greasy, nails chewed down to the quick, burns and small scratches marring my hands. The heavy silver watch Jackie left for me hung off my wrist. The little gold hand ticked on steadily, but sometime soon I was going to have to get the wasted battery replaced. I imagined the people across the street, how their hands must have looked. Clean, elegant, manicured, underneath those pink and cerulean gloves.

_Assholes_. I thought, draining my coffee. Behind me, there was a loud crash.

"_Hijo de puta! Dios y placas damn! Manolo, ¿qué tipo de chiquero sacaste Unidos creado en? Debo romper tu puto culo --" _I had jumped and turned sharply, and having heard Manny's name I figured that's who he had been yelling at, but Manny had stepped outside to use the can, and Tony swivelled around. His huge dark eyes were bright with anger, but softened a little. "Shit, sorry, kid."

"Are you ok?"

"Fine, I'm fine, chica. Pass me one of 'em cigarettes."

I did, and he came over and lit a match on the counter. "Ya know, Vicki, I didn' come down all the way from Cuba, to work in a place like 'dis. In the brochure, they left stuff out, I guess." he laughed. I hadn't been to Cuba before he moved so I didn't really understand what was funny, but I knew of the communist problem.

"At least you're a free man, here."

"Really? I'm chained to tha' fuckin' sink. I was betta' off in prison, chica, 'n' that sayin' somethin'."

"Things will look up. It's always a little rocky at first out here."

"Well, I won' be here for long."

"Don't leave me!" I said, being sarcastic but also a little disappointed-- like hell I was going to stay here alone if Manny and Tony left. Besides the fact that they were grumpy, foul-mouted Cubans, they were probably the only real men I had ever met. They had backbones, they were tough, they spoke their minds and they defended what they believed in. The only people I had ever met like that were soldiers.

"Aw, chica, we'll take ya with us. You too pretty, to be workin' in a shit-hole like 'dis." I flushed a little.

"I can manage. I'm leaving next week, anyways."

"What! Where ya goin'?"

"_Casabianca. _Little Greek restaurant."

"Shit, take me wit' you, girl!" I laughed and Tony ruffled my hair affectionately.

"What you two laughin' 'bout?" Manny had returned, adjusting his apron. A customer followed him as well, and we went back to work. I flicked my cigarette and made an espresso for the man's wife, who looked down her nose at me. It was so weird, being a gourmet waitress and then suddenly serving coffee in a restaurante that lacked even a floor. But I loved working, though, it gave me time to think. I had worked in this little stand for about a month now, I was here two days before Montana and Manny, and I admitted to myself that I had a little crush on Tony-- he knew how to treat a lady, that's for sure.

Three weeks ago someone got shot across the street from where I was, some kind of drunk bar dispute. I had freaked out at the sight of blood on the pavement and the commotion and the cops, and when the police came over to question us I was thoroughly upset and didn't want to talk too them, but Tony beat them off for me and he and Manny drove me home instead of letting me walk. I guess I was kinda like the little waitress sister for the time we would work together, but I was thankful for it, young as I was.

Around midnight we closed. The boss left at 11 30, leaving us alone for the last half hour. We beat away any customers, Tony finishing his dishes and Manny wiping down the counters and machines, while I swept the concrete floor. We worked quietly, Manny and Tony speaking Cuban or Spanish in low voices, while I was just quiet and doing my thing. I was very tired, having to get up at 6 that morning to help Hannah, who couldn't start her car, to cleaning the shit out of the apartment, to running errands all afternoon, to work at six thirty. Payday was tomorrow, at least, thank God.

"Hey, Vicki," I stopped and looked over at the two men, who I noticed had removed their aprons and were ready to leave. "Wanna come too bar? Have few drink?"

"Um, no thanks, guys. Hannah will get worried."

"Ya sure? We can drive ya home." Tony said. "I good driver. Even when I'm drunk." he grinned.

"Maybe next time, Tony."

"Ok. It'll be our first date." he flashed that famous white-toothed smile at me, Manny winked and they went out the side door, talking and laughing rambunciously into the dark, steamed night. I heard their car start and they rolled off, the squealing tires echoing, making me feel a little alone and I wished I had gone with them. Hopefully I would get another offer next time. I finished sweeping in a hurry, since I didn't like to be downtown alone so late at night. A police siren wailed in the distance. Several cars cruised past, their headlights bright and accusing. The late July night was warm at least. I finally pulled off my apron, chucked it into a corner with the others, grabbed my jacket and purse, turned out the lights, and walked home.

----

I know not very interesting. But next chapter it picks up . R & R.


	2. Guns of Miami

Love Letters to Paris

chapter 2----Guns of Miami

**Disclaimer--- **I do not own Scarface, its characters or plot, etc.

Home sweet home.

Cosette was sitting in the kitchen, drinking red wine and smoking cigarettes, reading the paper. She was in her bathrobe, her long dark hair wound up in a white towel. She looked up at me when I stepped in. "Hey, tiger."

"Hey, Cosette. Whatcha doing?" I kicked off my shoes, stretching out my bare toes and relishing the fuzzy carpet underneath my feet as I padded into the kitchen. The carpet turned to linoleum, nice and cool, but a little tough on my sore heels.

"Catching up on Miami news. Ya know that guy that got shot across from your work? Turns out he was a mob boss. One of those crazy Russian fucks. As if, they weren't causing enough trouble in London, now they're down in the States. I might as well move back to Quebec. You wanna come?" she grinned at me. I grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and sat down across from her, taking one of her cigarettes.

"Nah, I think I'll stick it out here."

"How was work?"

"Tiring."

"Was your sexy Cuban there?" she teased, and I felt my ears turn red. "You're _blushing!_ Someone finally got into the Ice Queen's heart!"

"Oh, shut up, Cosette." The petite French-Canadian laughed. "Well, he did ask me to go to the bar with him. But I bet he asks all the girls that."

"Ah, you're just saying that. You don't really even wanna think that. Right?"

"Don't psycho-analyze me."

"Hey, you're my test subject!" I scowled and she smirked. Cosette was struggling through med-school right now. In two years she would graduate with a PHD in psychiatry, start work in Miami State Mental Hospital and take it off from there. Me? I was just going to have to stick it out with being a waitress, unless something happened. She also liked to torment me with psychoanalysis. She loves to fuck with me. But I love her anyways.

"Oh well, I'm never going to see him again in like, a week. Miami's a big place."

"Ya never know. A crush is a crush."

"I'd prefer to call it "attraction", not "crush"." I said, a little defensively. Cosette laughed.

"Ok, ok, now. Well, I'm getting to bed. Got classes tomorrow." she got up, put out her cigarette, drained her wine and tucked the paper under her arm. "Night."

"Bye."

Thankfully I had no job interviews tomorrow, as Casabianca was a sure-fire accomodation. So I was in excellent spirits. It was nearly one in the morning, though, in fact just after one, so I ran myself a bath, lit a few scented candles, and brought out Hemingway. _A Movable Feast. _Lovely story. The way he spoke to France, it was poetry, and I fell in love with this story. Cosette had gotten me into literature, I was never that really big into reading during school, but when I moved in with Cosette last year she had a massive collection of books and whatnot, and that's what inspired me to be a writer, an artist. I was prepared to live in minimum wage, working as a waitress, until maybe I hit the big bucks with a story and become mega rich. Or maybe I'll just marry a lawyer. Or a doctor.

_Shakespeare and Company_. The title pleased me. I settled into the steaming water, hissing with pleasure. I remained there until my hands were pruny and the water was lukewarm, and then I got out, prepared for bed and then slumped into my bed. Me and Cosette shared a room; both sides were equally tidy, although Cosette's side was covered with papers, textbooks, notebooks, books, you name it. Mine was more decorated with clothes and posters of Jefferson Airplane, the Beatles, Pink Floyd, Sid Vicious, all that jazz. I was big into rock during high school, but music wasn't as important to me now that I was an adult, although when I went with Cosette to her college parties I certainly still could rock out. I was out like a light when I hit the pillow, and slept dreamlessly.

I woke up the next morning around 11 30.

The sun was beaming through the half-cracked violet curtains, illuminating dust particles in the air, and I fancied myself by staring at them for a few minutes. It always took me at least ten minutes to wake up, I wasn't one of those people who could just sit up as soon as their eyes open, and bounce out of bed and start doing whatever. I had to come out of sleep slowly. I rolled out of bed, and walked into the kitchen with my panties and my shirt, made myself some coffee. I was sitting down at the paper with Mr Hemingway when I noticed I sat on something and it crumpled, and I sat up sharply and looked. Folded paper. Damn Cosette. I unfolded it and looked.

_Go get that sexy Cuban, girl! _

_Love Cosette._

I crumpled up the note and rolled my eyes, and around 12 I decided to do some cleaning. My day passed like that. Cosette came home around 4 30, looking exhausted but prattling on about her interesting lectures and brain diseases. We ordered a pizza, watched a movie on our tiny television and drank champagne (the landlord _loved _us, I guess two young ladies in his building got him going, so he sometimes gave us free liquor), and around 5 30 I got ready for work, pulling on jeans and one of Jackie's old shirts, and I was out the door ten minutes later, putting my hair up.

Tony and Manny were already there, Manny squabbling with some elderly lady who was complaining that her pannini was cold and Tony was fighting with the coffee machine. He couldn't really seem to get the damn thing, and I put on my dirty apron and ushered him away.

"Get now, you're going to break it."

"Damn thing!" he cursed. He was in a bad mood. One of his eyes were black. I frowned.

"What happened to your eye?" he gave me an excruciating glare and I looked at the coffee machine, setting it to the right settings while waiting for his reply.

"Nothin', chica, don' worry 'bout it. You comin' to the bar tonight with us, yea?" I looked at him, surprised. He still remembered! I knew I was blushing and I bet he knew it too, 'cause he had a mischevious grin on his face.

"Well, um--"

"Nah, ah, don' you be makin' up excuses, li'l lady. Ya comin' out with us. We know how to have good time." he smiled, showing off those freakishly white teeth.

"Ok."

"That my girl." he tousled my hair again and I squeaked, and then boss roared for us to get to work, and we did, but I was in the best mood possible, 'cause I was going out with Montana tonight. However work passed slowly. Manny flirted with me, but that was nothing new, I knew he didn't mean no harm, although Tony always did tell him to shut up at the odd time and to fuck off, which I thought was rather sweet of him. It didn't really strike me that Tony could be sweet, as he was quite the intimidating man, but I guess that's what drew me too him. Cosette had dissected the whole thing, when she got me drunk two weeks ago and I started blabbing about Tony, and she was pretty much just like "Yea girl, he's so badass you wanna bang him. Chics are like that. He'll rock your socks." Too which I blushed and babbled on, and she laughed.

Finally. Eleven thirty we shut down, absurdly early for a Friday night. I privately thought that maybe Tony wouldn't want too go out still, as he looked really tired, but before we even closed he sauntered over to me on my smoke break.

"Ya still comin', Vicki?"

"Yea...if you want me too."

"Well, yea. I don' go 'round askin' girls to come and then blow 'em off, ya think I'm like that?" I shook my head, clamming up.

"No, no!" He grinned, and tossed his apron in the corner.

"C'mon then." I took off my own apron.

"Um, Tony?"

"Huh?"

"Is it... is it ok if I went home and changed first?"

"Sure, yea. Not a problem. Ya hear that Manny?"

"Yea, yea, the lady wants to change."

We closed up, said good bye to boss, and I got in the back of their car, sitting on the leapord print seat covers. They were soft. I felt nervous, although I wasn't nervous of them-- I was never really asked out on dates before, and even though this really wasn't one, it felt intimate, probably because it was Tony Montana and I had never known a man like this before. We made it to my apartment in ten minutes, and Manny parked in front of the complex.

"Damn, ya live in luxury, don't ya?" Manny remarked, whistling.

"Oh, no. It's cheap."

"Yea, 'cause ya make tha big bucks, ya?" he and Tony laughed, and I mumbled that I would be right back and bolted up to my apartment. Cosette was having a few drinks with some friends from her classes, a tall blonde girl, a heavy-set red head guy, and another black haired girl.

"Vicki! You're just in time!" Cosette called, her cheeks flushed. She was already drunk, but it was late anyways.

"Nah, I'm going out with... some friends."

"Sexy Cuban?" Cosette's eyes lit up. "Ooh, you have fun girl!" I waved her off, ran up to my room and then realized that I had no idea where me and the guys were going. Maybe I should have been a little nervous and perhaps thinking it wasn't a good idea, but I thought I knew these guys well and while a little rough, they were relatively harmless. But just to be safe, I put on a knee-length black skirt and an off-shoulder black top, that fit me well. Some bracelets, hooped silver earrings, a ring, and I let my hair down, letting it curl naturally. A little eyeliner and mascara, and I felt I looked good. I slipped on my best high heels, said good bye to Cosette and her friends, and grabbed a jacket and walked down to the car.

Manny whistled.

"Girl, how come you never dress like that for work, huh? Ya beautiful!" I blushed and stammered.

"Oh, shut up, Manny."

"Eh, I'm jus' teasin', honey. But we proud we takin' you out!"

I got in the car and they took off. Manny drove fast, way faster then I was accustomed, and I kept catching Tony looking at me from the rear-view mirror. Or I was just hoping that was what he was doing. I decided to politely look out at streets of Miami, and finally relaxed.

We pulled into a seedy looking bar, aptly named _Kitty's Den. _Several of the patrons seated outside looked like the nasty type, and I leaned forward.

"Oh, Tony, don't leave me alone in here."

"Whatcha talkin' 'bout? Me 'n' Manny, we ain't asshole. Jus' toughen up, pussycat." he patted my cheek and I got out of the car, and they escorted me into the club. It was like one big acid trip. The band was playing _Somebody To Love_, good cover, they even had a girl singing. Everyone was dancing and grooving it, dealers peddling their brews. Manny yelled over the din he was going to try to find a girl to get laid, and he disappeared into the crowd. Tony brought me over to the bar.

"Thanks for inviting me out." I said, blushing a little. Tony sat in his stool and swivelled so he was facing me, his knee hitting my bare thigh. I pushed down my skirt a little, and ordered a rum and coke while Tony had a few tequila shots set out in front of him. He lit two cigarettes and passed one to me.

"No prob, Vicki. You look like the shy type, anyways."

"I don't really go out much."

"Really? Beautiful girl like you, no boyfriend or anythin'?" I shook my head.

"No, not really."

"Huh. So I don' have to kick anyone's asses then, eh?"

"Nope." I was quiet for a moment. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." I hesitated, and he looked at me imploringly, and I flushed and cramped up again. He laughed. "Don' be scared, pussycat, I won' hurt ya."

"Ok. Um, what was it like, in Cuba?"

"What was it like? Don't know what to tell ya. Lot's of cops. Castro's little rats. Catch ya breedin' discord, throw ya in the slammer. Lotsa people went missin'. Lotsa people died. Fuckin' mess. Lot different from America. Better here." He was very vague but I didn't want to push him.

"Would you ever go back?"

"What? Me? Ya gotta be kiddin'. Fuck no."

"Oh."

"Let's not talk 'bout that. Drink your drink. Wanna dance?" he downed one of his shots. I lit a cigarette to avoid dancing specifically, but I tried to be vague about it.

"Um, not yet. I should get a little drunk first." I laughed nervously.

"Aw, ya can't be much better then me."

"I doubt that..."

"What 'bout you? You like it here? You grow up in America?" I nodded.

"Yea. New York. It's ok, I've never really been anywhere else."

"Where would ya like to go?"

"Well... I've always wanted to go to Europe. Like, Paris."

"Paris? Ya mean all those fags with the long cigarettes and bread?"

"Yea."

"Huh. One day, maybe I take you there."

"I doubt we'll be seeing much of each other when I leave work."

"Fuck that. I'll find ya. I like ya. You're a nice girl. I like takin' ya out." I blushed.

"Thanks."

"Ya. Like I say, this is our first date. Ok?" I nodded. "Ok. Good. Now, c'mon, let's dance." And so he dragged me out onto the dance floor, and I ended up having a fantastic time. I laughed and I blushed and by the end of it I was drunk and no longer was I pushing Tony's hand away when it slid up my skirt or when it grabbed my ass. There was one little occurence when another man grabbed my own ass from behind, and Tony pushed me out of the way so hard I went flying into some other people, and Tony made sure that man's hand wasn't going to be touching me or another girl at any other point, judging by the way he blacked both his eyes and I figured we were going to be kicked out when security trundled over and told him to calm his ass down or we were getting thrown out.

Other then that, everything was ok. We found Manny leaving around 2 AM, with a pretty blonde girl with him, saying he would get a ride home back to their place in the morning, so that left me with Tony. I wanted to go home soon after, as Cosette would probably be worried (if she wasn't passed out in the bath tub again), and I shyly let Tony kiss me by the car.

"My place, chica?" he asked, pulling me close to him. Despite being drunk, I managed to shake my head, although I was dying to screw the short Cuban.

"Um, no. I don't want you to think I'm a slut."

"Ah, you're the last girl I think would have teeth in her pussy. What you say? We don't have to fuck. That can be next time."

"Will there even be a next time?"

"Of course. What the fuck, ya still think I'm an asshole?" I shook my head. "It's ok. I'll take ya home if ya wanna."

"We could... I don't know, hang out at my place for a *hic* bit."

"You drunk, chica." He chuckled. "Betta' take ya home. C'mon, pussycat." he smacked my ass and that got me going. I got into the passenger seat and we drove back to my apartment. I let him kiss me again and he let me go, saying he would see me tomorrow at work and we would see how things would go by then. I left, and as I was walking into my apartment I kind of wish I had taken up his offer and left with him, but I was still a virgin, I was embarassed to admit-- 21 year old virgin. How lame. Cosette was out like a light in the bath tub, as I had expected, and our ancient cat Hermes was curled up at her neck. I got out of my clothes and passed out in bed, extremely happy with how my night had went.


End file.
